


Seat For One, Party Of Two

by SaintLilin



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Mogan's Earth Shattering Thighs, Dirty Talk, F/M, Mirror Sex, No Spoilers, Poker, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, yee i fit it in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintLilin/pseuds/SaintLilin
Summary: You can't play poker at the table, but you can certainly play from Arthur's lap.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 212





	Seat For One, Party Of Two

**Author's Note:**

> me writing my 20k multichapter, minding my own business: :^)
> 
> my horny brain: arthur morgan has nice thighs. wonder what it would be like to........sit on them.
> 
> me, opening a new document: :^))

Arthur Morgan was the shire of the camp; picking up the other's slack and encouraging them to keep pace. He was walking intimidation, an excellent shot, cunning when he wanted to be and the man assigned to most jobs, but a card shark he was not. This only seemed to matter on nights when the gang gathered around the poker table and played, Arthur either ready to part with his two dollars or face everyone's teasing--your own included. So, when Trelawney came poking his nose around with prospects of a high stakes poker game, everyone looked to you.

Counting cards, swapping out jacks for aces, finding a person’s tell. If it had to do with a little white two by three card then you were golden. Unfortunately, most poker tables didn’t allow women to handle cards, but they _did_ encourage working girls to cozy up with the players; cheer up a loser or congratulate a winner by bringing them to your bed. You feigned ignorance when Hosea told you this, knowing exactly what he was playing at and wanting nothing more than to tell him _no way,_ but at the mention of a certain _detail,_ you acquiesced. 

And so you sat with whalebone sticking into your ribs courtesy of Miss O’Shea, a small pistol strapped to your leg courtesy of Charles, and a strong, thick thigh under your bottom courtesy of Arthur Morgan. Rather, courtesy of Mr. Matthews, the conniving con-man. He was too observant for anyone’s good.

The riverboat was a perfect mix between a brothel and a bank, each man with a stack of chips worth more than a boat to Tahiti and a pair of breasts in their face big enough to have you wondering if they were simply making blind bets. 

At first, the entire ordeal felt suffocatingly awkward, a fact not entirely to blame on your corset. Arthur was handsome, something acknowledged by everyone but himself, and while you could happily admire him from far away, sitting on his lap in a revealing dress and made to act like a working lady wasn’t exactly a remedy for your harbored feelings. Not to mention the many beautiful and _skilled_ women that were in no short supply. They helped you none with feeling like a mule stood next to a thoroughbred, but you weren’t there to seduce, simply cozy up and whisper in Arthur’s ear how to play his game. 

By the fourth round you’d easily garnered a healthy amount of chips to fall back on, could bully other players into folding and lead the lesser inclined to follow your lead. 500 dollars to these men could have easily been twenty--pushing them to believe a bluff was as easy as rowing a boat through a stagnant pond. 

“Christ, and I thought you were a bad player,” you mutter when another gambler reveals he’s been betting with an Ace high this entire time.

“Seems the more money you got, the stupider you are,” he returns under his breath. You giggle, a genuine titter but slightly played up.

“My, Mr. Callahan,” you say, more for the other gamblers. “You sure do have a way with the cards.”

“Well, I’ve got Lady Luck sittin’ right in my lap,” he purrs. Because, yes. As much as Arthur pretends to hate theatrics, he is a wonderful co-star. Giggling when Arthur made some backhanded remark, curling up against him as he bet, whispering in his ear whether he should raise or call or just for the hell of it. Arthur’s hand, large and warm enough to feel beneath the restricting layers sat on your cinched waist, cheek leaning into your flirtatious touches. He was playing his role as well as any, and that helped you relax into yours.

That, and the free drinks, of course.

Every time a waiter passed by you held out your hand, grabbing a glass of champagne or a tumbler of whiskey, downing it and replacing it with the next. It was fine at first, your ability to hold your liquor being displayed not for the first time, but as the hour passed, games ticked by and chips were cycled through, you were leaning on Arthur for a different reason than you started, your giggles coming easier and far more frequently. 

“When we get back to the room the first thing I’m gonna do is rip this damn dress off,” you mutter, lips right up against his ear. “I feel like a cow with a bow on it.”

Arthur’s head turns to you, hand pulling you closer to him. “I think you look beautiful,” he says earnestly. “But I’ll be more than happy to help you out of the thing.”

You smirk, fingers tracing his jaw. “After that, I’m gonna take a bath hot enough to scald. Buy one of those wash girls so I don’t have to lift a damn finger.” 

“Mind if I join you?” You hum quietly, Arthur’s hand squeezing your side.

“Wouldn’t mind that a bit. Not if you washed my hair.”

“Anythin’ you want, what with the way things are goin’ now.” He turns his face to you, bright blue eyes dancing across your face, plump lips quirked. “All thanks to you, darlin’.” 

You will your beating heart to quiet when another hand is dealt, Arthur flipping up his cards in a way that you can peek at them. 

Three of spades and five of diamonds.

It’s no double Ace, but also not entirely worthless. You hum, a tell to Arthur that he should call while your fingers run absentmindedly through his hair. It’s long, much longer than you remember it being in the year you’ve known him and the gang. Might even be a touch longer than Marston’s, now that you think about it. You thought he might cut it for this event, but were more than a little pleased to see that he didn’t. Simply slicked it back with pomade, though a strand still fell out over his eye. You let your nails drag slightly at the nape of his neck, twisting a hair between your fingers. The hand on your side runs along the bottom of your corset, where he can feel the swell of your hips. 

As the others bet, one player raises Arthur by 50 dollars. It worries you none--man’s tell is as plain as day, what with the way he blinks every time he tries to bluff. Situating your head on Arthur’s shoulder, you whisper for him to raise, hiding the movement of your lips by dragging them gently along his neck. You can smell what you think is a bit of cologne behind his ear, something faint and inoffensive, but not quite as nice as the lingering cigarette smoke on his skin, the light musk of his sweat and the ever-present smell of the campfires. It’s warm, familiar, inviting. 

When the flop cards are drawn, you wait to pull your head up, in part because you don’t want to seem too eager and in part because you can almost feel Arthur’s pulse against your lips, tempting you to drag your tongue along it. You forget yourself for a moment, nearly press your mouth to him, but get pulled back when Arthur makes a move you didn’t advise.

All of his chips get pushed to the center.

You can’t outright tell him that he just made a fools move betting _all_ of your money on a draw, but you do your best.

“Wow, Mr. Callahan,” you say in an overly saccharine tone. “That’s quite the bet!”

He looks at you, a wide smile that drops from his eyes when he sees your face. He coughs, and says, “Someone’s gotta get the train movin’.” 

The laugh you give is mirthless even to your own ears. “I didn’t say all-in,” you whisper.

“I thought we agreed you puttin’ yer head down meant all-in.”

_Christ,_ you think. With bated breath you peak at the community cards. A four, eight and ace sit on the table and you relax slightly. It wasn’t a terrible thing to see, but you snatch a whiskey off of a waiter’s tray regardless.

Unfortunately, the board sparks a little something in everyone. You had anticipated Arthur dropping this early in the game would mean the others would fold, but only one does. The other two push all in as well. You aren’t even sure how much that _is,_ all of the poker chips piled together in the center. It can’t be less than...five thousand, surely. 

Everyone lays down their hands and you eye them with your heart in your throat. The only hand that matters is a three of a kind, all three of which are aces. The man smacks his hand on the table gleefully, waiting for Arthur to put down his own. There’s a few broken laughs when they see it, but nobody say anything just yet, all looking to the dealer.

Your heartbeat is near visible against your chest when he draws the turn. 

King. 

It does nothing for anybody at the table, which brings it down to the river. This entire mission and your credibility with the gang on the line for one final card. The dealer’s hand seems to slow as he flips over the river, the face shown to you before the other two and--

Two of spades.

Straight beats three of a kind.

Arthur hits the table with an open hand, laughing loudly. Finally able to let your excitement out, you laugh breathlessly with him, head feeling light with the abundance of adrenaline. You hardly register being hoisted up in his arms, eyes still staring at that _little beauty._ When the hand not holding you up cups your cheek you finally look to Arthur. He’s beaming down at you with a boyish, gleeful grin. “You really are Lady Luck, ain’t ya?”

“Something of the sort,” you reply smugly, leaning into his touch. He sets your feet back to the ground, thumb stroking over your jawline.

“I’ll need to repay you for the good fortune, then, won’t I?”

Your heart jumps in your chest, smile widening a near painful degree. “And how might you do that, Mr. Callahan?”

There’s a second where you both share a sober look, silent but honest between you. Arthur’s fingers twist in a lock of hair, “I’ll show you.” And then, to the dealer, “Have these cashed out at the bar, I’ll be back later for them.”

He grabs your hand and begins to lead you through the riverboat towards the lodging, but not before swinging by the bar. “Send a bottle ‘a somethin’ strong. For the lady,” he tells the barman before whisking you off. The hallways are barren save for a few loitering folks, and you race down them with giddy laughter. You nearly run right past Arthur's assigned room, caught up in the way the man's hand feels in yours, tight and secure, still catching your breath from the way he looked at you.

As soon as you’re both inside Arthur pulls you flush against him, his large arms circling your waist. “Can’t believe you bet all that damn money,” you laugh, hugging him tight.

“Can’t believe we _won_ all that damn money.” He pulls back from the hug, resting his forehead on top of yours, eyes closed. “Just might be the luckiest man alive,” he says, the heat of his breath ghosting over your lips.

“With a few thousand dollars worth of chips waiting for you, I’m inclined to agree.”

When he pulls back he’s smiling, blue eyes darting between your own. “I almost forgot about that.”

His lips are far softer than you expect when they press against your own, tasting of the tobacco he dries himself and the whiskey he’d been drinking tonight. Neither are particularly pleasant on the pallet, but on his tongue it tastes divine. You chase after it, pressing eagerly into the kiss to take what he offers. Your hands run along the buttons of his blue vest, popping each one to get to the crisp white shirt underneath. You’d thought about undressing him countless times--untucking his usual threadbare blue shirt from his jeans, slipping your hands underneath to feel his strong abdomen, revealing more than just the first inch of his golden chest hair to your eyes. It’s what kept you sane the late nights you couldn’t sleep, when all you had was your hand and imagination to drown out the sound of Uncle and Bill’s tumultuous snoring. God, and tonight you got to not only sleep in a bed, but share it. With Arthur. _Bless you, Hosea._ He busies his own hands with carefully undoing your hair, tossing the ribbon and small, decorative comb that had been holding it together out, running his fingers along your slightly tender scalp. You moan at the feeling, melting underneath him.

When you’re nearly down to his last button, a knock at the door interrupts your hands from finally knowing just how strong his core really is. You pull apart, Arthur somehow looking annoyed and apologetic at the same time. While he answers the door you glance into the floor-length mirror, seeing your once carefully made hair disheveled and light lipstick smudged. Scrubbing at your mouth to remove it, you don’t notice Arthur come up behind you until his lips are at your neck, nipping next to the silver earring dangling from your lobe. A bottle of wine gets set onto the vanity next to you. Expensive, no doubt, but—

“I would have preferred rum,” you jest with a small snort.

“I’ll get you whatever you want tonight,” Arthur husks. 

“Right now I’d just love to get this corset off.” You glance at him over your shoulder, moving your hair to reveal the closures at the back of your dress. “Would you?”

His hands smooth across the neckline of your dress, moving the small hooks apart down to the base of your spine. You let the fabric pool to the ground, standing in front of him in just your delicates. He looks over your shoulder to admire the front in the mirror, his hands sliding up the smooth surface of the corset.

“Was a real shame you had this on while you were in my lap,” he says, quickly undoing the knots and pulling the ribbons out of the eyelets. “Wanted nothing more than to feel you. How soft and warm you are.”

You take in your first unrestricted breath of the night, feeling your ribs expand to their normal size. Leaning your head back against his chest when the corset drops away, his hands slide under the short chemise, running over your stomach and up your ribs. “Just as lovely as I imagined.”

“Imagined, huh?” 

He tips up your chin, speaking right against your lips. “Almost every night.”

While his tongue slides against your own, his hands smooth down the back of your chemise, untying your undergarments to allow them to join your dress. 

Standing entirely bare in front of Arthur should make you slightly nervous. Should make you worry about how you look, about the lines the corset left on your skin, how your breasts no longer sit high on your chest or how your waist isn’t as small, but as his warm and rough hands roam without bias over your skin, leaving goosebumps to follow in his wake, you simply cannot think of a single reason to deny yourself this pleasure. When his nails lightly drag along the swell of your ass you moan into his mouth, fingers fisting in his opened shirt.

“I want you,” you gasp, pressing your hips back against him. 

“Are you sure?”

Instead of with words you answer him by lifting your leg, planting your still-heeled foot onto the low vanity next to the wine, exposing your core to the air and, more importantly, to his eyes. 

“Arthur,” you whimper, face burning something fierce. The top of his sun kissed cheeks burn just as bright, eyes wide and unblinking. “Please.” His blue eyes flick to the mirror and in a flash switch from flustered and stunned to looking like a predator spying on its prey. Your stomach feels light with the fire you see. 

“Anything you want,” he whispers. 

It’s one thing to feel his hands on your skin, another entirely to watch them in a way you couldn’t otherwise. His hand sides from your knee to your inner thigh, down to trace the perimeter of your pubic hair. Two fingers trace down between your thighs, avoiding all of the places you ache for him to touch and somehow still managing to set you alight.

When the pads of his fingers make their way back up, they brush along the sensitive bundle of nerves at your center. You gasp and he responds, circling over your clit in a near-perfect replication of how you’d touch yourself. The way you’d roll your clit and touch your chest by the water when you thought everyone was asleep. Well, almost everyone. Your chest heaves and legs shake until his fingers are suddenly pressing inside of you. You watch them slide between your parted thighs, lewdly disappearing inside of your cunt to twist and press and--

“Just like that,” you moan, head falling back. He holds you against his chest with his free arm, taking some of the weight from your shaking legs, but doesn’t stop moving inside of you for a second. 

He bites your shoulder just slightly and the feel of his teeth have you rolling your hips against his palm and back against his neglected crotch. He grinds against you, the feel of his erection pulling another moan from you, but he shakes his head. “You first, darlin’.” 

You can’t do anything but obey him, not with the way his fingers are working you so perfectly. You’ve thought of him for so long, imagined him nearly every possible way, but your expectations have been left behind in the wake of this reality. His taste, the way he feels, the way he makes _you_ feel. It’s so much better than you’d ever dreamed. Watching his slick covered fingers pumping so easily into your body has the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, every touch feeling so much better.

“Arthur, I-I’m--”

His eyes meet yours in the mirror, bright and hungry in the low light. “That’s my girl,” he praises, and you snap. The teeth clamping onto your lip does little to suppress the curses and groans that build in your throat, hips canting to take Arthur’s fingers deeper still. He works you through it, whispering in your ear words that you do not hear but feel all the same. 

While you fall back to Earth Arthur kisses you with a hunger, aching and needier than before. You waste no time before twisting around in Arthur’s grasp to press your breasts against him. Finally, your hand is able to cup him through the expensive trousers he wears, fingers stretched wide over his thickness. You pull away from his mouth just in time to hear the broken and animalistic groan break through his lips. Arthur’s hands pull your hips tightly against him, rolling his erection against you with an almost unbridled desire. You have no intention to tease him tonight, though the thought of watching him break from your mouth barely touching him or your hips slowly dragging over him does cross your mind. 

“Arthur,” you breathe, voice hoarse. “I want you.”

“Anything you want.”

“Need it.”

“I’ll give you everything I have.”

“Just want you.”

The cool sheets under your feverish skin feel just as good as the hot mouth running along your collarbone and over the tops of your breasts, Arthur’s tongue lavishing over each of them. You tug his suspenders from his shoulders and kick off your heeled shoes, trying to remove his pants with just your feet. He laughs against your chest, coming off to smile down at you. “Sorry, princess,” he says, throwing his shirt and pants off with little regard to where they fall. 

It’s no surprise to you just how large Arthur is, in every sense of the word. When he crawls back onto the bed you’re not shy to reach out and stroke him, feeling the unrestricted weight of him in your palm, silky and hot and ready for you.

Time is precious to an outlaw. Time spent before the law catches you, before you’re shot, spent in a chain gang waiting for a rope. Every second counts, but tonight, together, you neither hurry nor prolong. Time is at your mercy.

When the head of his cock splits your lips, your breath hitches. He’s careful to lubricate himself before pressing into you, the heavy thick head rolling over your sensitive clit and just barely dipping into you. You think he’s teasing, but the way his eyes drink you in says he’s simply enjoying you. The slow, sweet burn of him finally entering you has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, lips parting in a silent cry when he’s fully seated. It’s a tight fit at first, but as he starts to gently grind his hips you realize it’s a perfect fit. 

The hands fisted in the red, shiny sheets let go to run along his chest; up the swell of his pecs and over his broad shoulders. Without the burning need of your own pleasure clouding your mind, you’re able to fully appreciate the way Arthur’s artistic inclinations bleed into his lovemaking. The roll of his hips that drag the head of his cock over all the right places, the thick, long fingers that press over your mound both to feel himself from the outside and work his thumb over your clit, how his dark brows furrow and wet lips part to take in jagged breaths and let out broken moans. 

The sudden warmth behind your ribs nearly distracts you from the tightness at your core, how Arthur’s thrusts haven’t changed at all, but your nerves burn brighter with every stroke. He sees it coming before you do, and it hits you like a train when his eyes flick up to yours, mouth quirking impishly to call out a command.

“Take your pleasure, darlin’.”

And so you obey.

It’s blinding and muscle jerking and Arthur works you through it with his forehead pressed against yours and eyes drowning you in the slew of adoration there. He goes until your voice is broken and your legs are shaking, slowing to let you catch your breath and allow your nerves to calm. How he can have so much self-restraint is beyond you, but the way you twitch with oversensitivity has you more grateful than curious.

Your bum rests in his lap, legs spread lewdly around him, arms resting limply above your head. Stretched out for his viewing pleasure. You both catch your breath, the room hot and humid, a beautiful sheen of sweat coating Arthur’s body. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathes, hands following the curve of your waist, up to your breasts to squeeze and press them together. 

“How long?” you ask, giving a testing roll of your hips against his length. His eyes close, hips gently grinding back against you.

“Since you first joined us,” he says with a smile. “When you were so shy and scared. Never thought I’d hear a word out of you, right up until you shouted at Pearson for butchering that deer you brought in.” Your laugh turns to a moan when he begins to thrust at a slow, shallow pace. “I thought you were so cute. Quiet and timid like a deer. Had no idea what a keen little fox you actually were. Or that I’d like that side of you just as much.”

He kisses your knee, smiling against your skin. “Like when you’d bathe in that stream near the camp, but only while I was on guard duty.”

A laugh. “So you did see me.”

“Didn’t take extra shifts just ‘cause I liked sittin’ there.”

Hand wrapping over his you ask, “If you knew then what took you so long?”

His head picks up, body coming to tower over yours. He moves a piece of hair away from your face, combing through the curls with gentle fingers. Arthur Morgan, the most terrifying, intimidating creature most will ever have the displeasure of knowing. 

“I wanted to do right by you.”

And yet the kindest, most compassionate man you’ll ever have the pleasure of calling your...

Arthur’s lips drown your thoughts, doting and consuming in a way you want to describe to Mary-Beth. His hips roll against yours over and over again, pulling from you songs you weren’t aware you knew, cries just for him and shouts you couldn’t find it in yourself to care who heard. He moans and curses and tells you what a good girl you are, _his perfect girl_. Prays to you and only you. When he approaches his climax you’re meeting his hips thrust for thrust.

There’s no grand declaration when he hastily slips out of you, or when his seed is spilled across your stomach. Not when his mouth crashes to yours and when he rolls to his side to bring you to rest on top of him. Neither of you speak for a long while. You simply breathe the same air, your skin damp and warm and near inseparable due to the drying spend on your stomachs.

Arthur is the first to part the silence.

“I’ll wash your hair if you wash mine.”

You hum, running your nose along his collarbone. There's a small bump there where he must have broken it. "In a bit. Wanna stay here. Little longer." 

The vibrations of his chuckle are felt all down your spine, lips brushing against your forehead gently. "Anything for you, princess."

**Author's Note:**

> PHEw hot off the mf press, am i right ladies? sorry the first half is boring/clumsy asdfgh i'm so bad at setting up oneshots. even grammarly roasted me when i put that section through. regardless, i hope you enjoyed!! consider leaving a comment or a kudo if you did B^)
> 
> Edit 2-11-20
> 
> changed the title and skimmed through this again just to correct some weird sentences. 
> 
> also, yeah i completely forgot about the gun she had strapped to her leg and the wine. oops.  
> (keep the struggle. keep it.)
> 
> Edit: hi guys, popping in to say I have a Twitter you can follow!! @saint_lilin it’s accidentally become filled to the brim with RDR shit lol so hop over there if you wanna say hi!!


End file.
